


Hey There, Soldier

by shiniestqueen (sparrowinsky)



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6587683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowinsky/pseuds/shiniestqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliens, accidental meetings, battle grannies, and blind dates.</p><p>Ladies and gentlemen, the life of one Darcy Lewis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darcy 1, Aliens 0

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nobutsiriuslywhat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobutsiriuslywhat/gifts).



> For [nobutsiriuslywhat](http://nobutsiriuslywhat.tumblr.com/), who asked for Darcy/Steve, Darcy/Bucky, Darcy/both or Darcy/Avengers. I ended up going with Darcy/Bucky, although there may be a poly Avengers fic in the works as a result... we'll see.
> 
> [Bionic Battle Granny](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4121965/chapters/9291334) belongs to [Ozhawk](ozhawkauthor.tumblr.com) and is borrowed with glee. I would promise to return her undamaged, but I'm fairly certain she's invulnerable.

“Why is it always aliens? Am I an alien-magnet?” Darcy kept her voice to a mutter as she crept down the narrow street. Her messenger bag thumped softly against her hip with every step. “And they’re never hot. One hot alien, and I saw him first, but no, he moons over Jane. Not that I want to bang Thor. No more than anybody else does. Oh heyyyy, dead rat, that’s gross.”

She stepped over it, shuddering from more than the cold, and took a deep breath. “Ok, operation distract myself has met with mixed success. C’mon, Lewis,” she continued. “You can do this. Another five blocks. If you can do if for coffee, you can do it for survival.”

New Yorkers were good at this whole “alien invasion” thing, these days. The evacuation of seventeen city blocks had been obeyed, quickly-ish, and with something approaching order. A lot of grumbling, too, but order. Darcy could have gone, of course, but at this point she felt she could be considered Official when it came to aliens. All that experience.  And to be honest, she wasn’t her best before caffeine. And these suckers moved fast for wobbly pyramids of shit-colored jello. After three attempts at going _out_ , she decided the answer was _fuck it_ and turned around. Thor’d probably blasted a perimeter around the tower by now anyway.

The thought of Thor was tinged with a little wistful longing. Realistically, Darcy should have been in the tower already, helping Jane set up the lab. The lovely, safe tower filled with and surrounded by people that could squash aliens like bugs. But no, she had to go try to be a native and find a coffee shop that wasn’t the fancy thing in the tower’s shopping levels, which probably would have made coffee just fine and she would have been _safe_.

That was another nugget of wisdom courtesy of Alien Experience. The safest place in any messed-up situation was right next to Thor. It was also the most dangerous place. _It’s a paradox_ , she thought, and grinned. It didn’t quite drive away the spike of fear coiling around her heart, but it was a start.

Darcy gingerly flattened herself against the building, taser gripped in sweat-slick hands. She was pretty sure the original color of the wall was _not_ grungy puke-gray, but she was _not going to think about that nope_.

She made a mental note to throw this outfit in the wash with a _lot_ of bleach. Or maybe just straight into an incinerator.

She peered around the corner. The street was nearly silent, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. People who burst recklessly out of alleyways in the middle of a Capital-S Situation were people who got shot with alien guns - _not_ an item on Darcy’s bucket list.

“Fuck!”

She tightened her fingers around the taser. An old woman was running-- well, walking at a nice clip-- up the street. Ninety if she was a day, but still nearly outpacing the Jello Doom-Pyramid behind her. Nearly. _Go go Granny, make that sucker work for it_.

Something in Darcy twitched at the sight. She was still scared, sure, but a little thread of steel wound around her bones; _damn_ if she was going to let this thing kill a little old lady. She juggled the taser for a moment as she wiped her hands dry, then took a deep breath, pulled her shoulders back and her chin up, and lunged into the street.

“ _Hey, asshole blob!_ ”

The old lady stumbled, head snapping toward Darcy and focusing on her with narrowed eyes. The alien seemed to pause as well, wobbling in place for half a moment before moving forward with-- well-- it looked determined, but it also didn’t have a face, so.

“Aaaand that was your warning.” Darcy took two massive steps forward, the sound of her sneakers scraping against the asphalt loud in the near-silent street, until she was between the woman and the alien. If anything, it seemed to move faster. At about twenty feet away, she shot it.

Whatever Darcy had expected, instant combustion was _definitely_ not it. “Thor must be having a field day with these things,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose. The thing now smelled almost exactly like burnt hair with a faint hint of jasmine. _Bizarre_.

“Oh, _marvelous_.”

Darcy spun around to face the old woman. The old, apparently ninja woman who was right behind her and carrying a _gun_ , what the hell? _How did I miss that_?

The woman noted Darcy’s glance and tapped the side of the weapon, wearing a rueful grimace. “The damn thing jammed. Never let someone else clean your guns.”

“...uh, okay.” Darcy stepped back, releasing the cartridge on her taser and fishing another one out of her bag. “Is there somewhere you can go? I need to--” she glanced behind her, squinting at a small red shape moving through the sky. At this distance she couldn’t tell if it was Thor or Iron Man. Not that it really mattered.

“Oh, I imagine they’ve got it nicely under control, don’t you?” The old woman smiled, flipping on the safety on her gun and sliding it into the pocket of her dark pants. “These things are hardly a menace, after all. Look at that one, I think you’ve killed it.”

“Huh?” Darcy half-turned. The alien seemed to be _melting_.

“...ew.”

Her eyes went wide as they dropped to her taser.

“Exactly! One little jab of electricity and it’s like sugar melting in the rain. Hardly the worst we’ve had. And speaking of sugar, that looks like a lovely little coffee shop on the corner there. Give me your arm, dear.”

“I feel like you probably don’t need the help.” Darcy slowly returned the cartridge and taser to her bag anyway.

“What a thing to say. Don’t sass your elders. Now.” She held out her arm, wearing an expression that outpaced imperious by a mile.

Darcy sighed, biting back a smile. “...yes, ma’am.”

 

When Captain America found them-- several hours later-- Darcy Lewis and Peggy Carter were the best of friends, laughing uproariously over cups of coffee that smelled strongly of lavender. A foregone conclusion, really, although Darcy’d had an embarrassing few moments of hero worship when they introduced themselves.

After all, _Agent Peggy Carter_. Darcy had rescued the woman that was responsible for inspiring an entire generation-- several, really-- of women into careers in politics, combat, and intelligence. What even was her life.

“You’re all right.” Steve shrugged off his shield, stepping carefully into the small shop with a quick glance to the corners.

“Of course we’re all right.” Peggy shook her head. “And this lovely young woman has introduced me to a new flavor of coffee. You young people put the most ridiculous things into your drinks, you know,” she said, glancing at the dark-haired young woman sitting beside her, familiar only from her SHIELD profile and Thor’s descriptions.

“Miss Lewis?”

The young woman gave him a half-wild grin, blue eyes wide. “Yeah, you know, just some alien blobs, no big. I’ve seen worse.” She paused, then leaned toward Peggy. “Did I just sass Captain America?”

“Hah!” Peggy patted her hand. “It’s good for him. Short straw, Captain Rogers?”

Steve twitched, clenching his fists to keep from rubbing at the sudden flush of heat in his cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come now.” Peggy’s voice turned conspiratorial. “Not a man to play poker with if you value your life’s savings but he never could lie to me.”

Steve sighed.

“...I’ll bite. Short straw?” Darcy glanced between them, arching an eyebrow as she reached for her cup.

Steve narrowed his eyes at her, but Peggy spoke before he could open his mouth, eyes glittering wickedly.

“Shall I guess?”

Something mulish in him wanted to keep silent, but it was hard to be irritated with two pairs of laughing eyes watching him. He relented with a small smile. “Tony said he’s too smart to try and herd you, Natasha disappeared, Thor thinks you could take down something called a bilgesnipe and Clint said he’s ‘ _done enough Carter-sitting duty_ ’ and refused.”

“But you were worried and came anyway.” Peggy took a sip of her drink and glanced at Darcy. ”He’s always been nearly as sweet as he is obnoxious.”

“Hey-”

“And pretty,” she continued.

“ _Hey_ -”

“I’ve always gone for brunettes myself, actually,” Darcy murmured, even as she cast an appraising glance up and down his body.

 _Hey_. Steve bit his tongue, willing himself not to rise to the bait… but Peggy was already distracted.

“Really,” she murmured, eyeing Darcy with an expression of pure calculation. “ _Really_ , now.”

 


	2. What (Not) To Wear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely meant to post this last week, but, uh. Mental health and all that shit. Sorry.

Darcy tugged at the straps to her dress, eyeing herself dubiously in the bathroom mirror. The sleek black fabric clung to her bust in an excellent way, but it _also_ hugged her stomach and hips, and ugh. Ugh.

No.

“You have one dress left,” Jane said, watching from her cocoon of blankets on Darcy’s bed. “After that it’s all jeans and blouses. Or yoga pants and t-shirts.”

“I know… I know.” Darcy stepped halfway out of the bathroom, leaning against the door. Her fingers worried at the hem of the skirt before letting it fall to hang loose at her thighs. “Why am I so worried about this.”

“You want to get _laaaaaiiiiid_ ,” Jane sang, waving her spoon around with a grin. “I think you should wear that one.”

“Get any ice cream on my bed and I’ll lay _you_. In the _ground_.” 

**“** You wanted me here. Accept the price you have to pay.”

“Nnnnngh whatever. Give me some of that.” Darcy flopped onto her bed, leaning into Jane’s warmth as she made grabby hands at the ice cream. 

“You’re going to wrinkle the dress, Darcy.”

“Don’t care."

“Fair enough.” Jane shrugged, handing over the tub after taking another massive spoonful. “So, why?”

“Why….?” Darcy contemplated handing the ice cream back. Then again, if Jane was going to make her talk about Feelings-- no. She dug the spoon back in, hunting for cherries.

“Why are you so worried about this? Tell Aunt Jane all about it.” Jane snatched the spoon back and shoved a heaping spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, raiseing her eyebrows at Darcy and looking like absolutely nobody's agony aunt.

Darcy sighed, turning her face into the blankets with a groan. “It’s _Director Carter_. I bet all the men she knows are buff, gorgeous agents. And I’m--”

“A not-buff, gorgeous research assistant? I’ve met a lot of SHIELD personnel, Darce. Your description does not compute.” Jane wiggled one arm free from and combed her fingers through Darcy’s hair. 

“I’m just saying,” Darcy grumbled, even as the gentle scrape of nails against her scalp made made her smile. “If I was a 90-year-old cyborg, I’d surround myself with hot people.”

“Come on. It’s probably some cute guy from their R&D.” Sensing her moment, Jane’s other arm yanked free of the blankets and she made a wild grab for the ice cream. “Trust the wise old woman!”

Darcy’s grip on the ice cream, loosened by contentment, was no match. A moment later the spoon, heaping full, hovered in front of her face. 

“Janey.” Darcy leaned just far enough to take the proffered bite of ice cream and continued with her mouth full. “Jane. Jane-icus. While you were imprinting the sky onto your eyeballs, some of us were studying life on earth. Peggy Carter is many things, all of which I want to be when I grow up, but _wise_ is probably not among them.”

“She was Director of SHIELD…” Licking a spilled drop from her hand, Darcy tipped her head back and squinted at the innocent expression on Jane’s face. Jane’s eyes flicked down to meet Darcy’s, and the mask crumbled as she shrieked with laughter, tipping sideways on the bed and her feet kicking free from the blankets. 

“I couldn’t-- you’re right,” she gasped. “You’re screwed.”

“You--!” Darcy braced her feet against the headboard and shoved, knocking Jane-- along with all the blankets-- to the floor. Jane just clutched at the blankets and laughed harder. “You can sleep down there! You are a terrible date assistant!” 

Jane responded by raising the somehow un-spilled carton of ice cream. “I’m amazing, and you love me.”

Darcy just grinned. 

They passed the ice cream back and forth for a while in a silence only broken by the occasional sound of one or the other shifting. The light from the window slowly dimmed, giving the room the purple in-between cast of twilight.

“I’m not going,” Darcy said, a little before 7:00. She waited for a response, staring at the blurred gray of her bedroom walls. Nothing.

“‘You don’t want to disappoint your hero, do you?’” Darcy tugged the straps of her dress back into place as she rolled off the bed.

“‘You have to do thing with people you don’t know sometimes,’” she said the to the mirror as she combed her hair.

“‘I know more about wormholes than people so why would you take my advice anyway,’” she muttered at the dark as she tugged on a pair of sandals-- the only thing in the closet that matched the dress-- and grabbed her purse.

The windows in the lobby seemed extra-shiny. A frowning Darcy echoed back at her from every direction, pale and puffy in a too-tight dress. “Why the hell did I take fashion advice from a woman who lives in _lumberjack shirts_ ," she groaned, and pushed through the doors.

A sleek black car idled in front of the building. It took her a minute to recognize the man leaning against it, and another to remember his name-- Happy. Pepper's driver.

That was weird. Pepper always left from the garage, didn't she? Darcy shrugged mentally and pulled out her phone to check the directions again. It wasn't any of her business, and she had more important things to worry about. Like not having a heart attack over a stupid blind date.

"Miss Lewis." The dull sound of a car door opening followed, halting Darcy mid-step.

She turned back, eyes sliding over the car again.  _Everyone leaves from the garage. Except for me._

“Are you kidding me? No. I’m walking!” It came out half a snarl, ringing with nerves.

Happy held up his hands, lips twitching into a rueful smile. "And I respect that, Miss Lewis, but I've got orders." 

"Ugh.  _Jane_. Like I can't navigate a city street on my own." Still. It was a  _really nice_  car. She rocked on her heels, chewing at her lip. 

"Hey, might as well arrive in style, right?" Happy wiggled the open door back and forth, now opening grinning at her.

 _If I take the car, I don't have to walk around as much in these stupid sandals_. The shoes were already starting to cut into her feet.

She sighed and got in.


	3. Love Is Blind (Dates Are Not)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy Lewis and Bucky Barnes on the awkward date from hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this date is suuuuuuper awkward.

The sandals were a _lot_ more comfortable sitting down. The dress not so much.

In the warm, dim light of the restaurant Darcy could sit back and hide in the little booth she’d been escorted to, seperated from the rest of the restaurant by a hefty oak table. It didn’t quite make up for the way the leather seat was sticking to the back of her thighs, but it was a good spot, tucked away along the back wall. Her view of the front door was fantastic, along with her view of every guy that walked through it only to not be escorted anywhere near her.

When, after ten minutes, it switched from _I’m early_ to _he’s late_ , she had to sit on her hands to keep from chewing at her nails. If the waiter gave her one more pitying look, she was gonna--

Darcy yanked her phone out of her purse with more force than strictly necessary, glaring at the bright glow of the screen. “God,” she muttered after a moment. “You have been on a date before, Lewis. Locate some chill.” It was a monumental effort to put the phone back instead of opening a game.

“Um,” someone said to her left.

Darcy managed to clench her jaw against the startled yelp that tried to fight its way out-- just. The squeak that replaced it, when she turned towards presumably-her-date with a bright smile plastered on, not so much.

Her first thought, gaze drifting over the dark hair and bright eyes, was _oh god he’s hot_.

Followed by _hey he looks familiar_.

And then, coming several seconds after a revelation: _I’m going to go to jail for murdering an old woman_.

Bucky Barnes, shining star of the history books and childhood crush of every WWII nerd in America, stood in front of her booth in dark jeans and a soft-looking button-up that was just a little too tight--

Darcy yanked her hands back into her lap and hoped the lighting hid the stinging heat in her cheeks.  

“...hi?” She managed, and mentally patted herself on the back. _Good job. Step one: vocalize. Accomplished. Step two: pretend you were not just about to reach out and touch an effective stranger_ … _in progress_.

“Hi,” he replied, just before the silence became truly unbearable. His grey eyes flicked from her to the door, then back.

“Did… um, did you want to sit down?”

“Yes.” Again that long pause. ‘At a loss for words’ was not, generally, a phrase used to describe Darcy Lewis, but she was pretty sure it was going to be inscribed on her gravestone. After she died, tonight, from awkward silence. “You need to move,” he finally continued.

“I-- oh. Oh! Ok.” _Duh!_ Darcy launched herself from the booth, her thighs audibly peeling from the leather seat. It stung, but she didn’t give herself time to think about it, tugging at the back of her dress as she flung herself into the other side of the booth. _Of course he wants his back to the wall and a view of the room_!

“There!” she breathed, offering a smile that she knew was a little too wild. He-- _Bucky Barnes_ , a giddy voice in the back of her mind screeched-- stood for a moment longer, favoring her with a neutral expression and a slow blink that somehow radiated indifference. Then he dropped into the seat, sliding into it with all the speed of a glacier. Darcy had to clench her jaw to keep the smile on her face, when his eyes barely paused on her in their measured sweep of the room.

The silence was so thick it hurt. _Say something_ , she thought, half a second before the waiter swooped in with a plastic smile and cast Darcy a look twice as pitying as before. It made her jaw clench tighter and her chin go up, because she was pretty sure this one was less _poor thing got stood up_ and more _poor thing think’s she’s in his league_ , if the heart-eyes he was making in her date’s direction were anything to go by.

“Water,” she muttered when the waiter asked for her order, and then with a hard look at Bucky, “and the mac ‘n cheese.” _Go ahead, buddy. Say something_.

His eyes met hers on the next pass, finally, and he returned her look with a bland one as he ordered a steak platter.

“So,” she made herself say after the waiter stepped away. “Um. I have to admit, when Peggy-- Director Carter said she had a ‘nice young man’ for me to meet, I wasn’t expecting…” She gestured vaguely in his direction. “I mean. Bucky Barnes. Woah.”

“I’m not-” His mouth twisted, eyes glancing back off to the side. “James. My name is James.”

“...right.” Darcy chewed at the inside of her lip for a moment, scraping her fingertips over the oak table. “Sorry. You probably don’t-- I mean--”-- _get it together!_ \--”I’m Darcy. Darcy Lewis.”

“I know.” She was willing to count it a victory that he’d actually focused on her, but the expression on his face wasn’t much of an improvement. ‘Disdainful’ was not exactly a step up from ‘apathetic.’

Darcy felt the flush fade from her face, replaced by a cold sensation that began in her stomach and radiated outward.

“Okay, _look._ ” She crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at Call-Me-James Barnes--and tried not to feel gratified when his eyes flicked, just for a moment, to her cleavage. “I get that maybe this isn’t what you were expecting, or wanted, or whatever. I get that you were probably strong-armed into a date by the scariest old lady on the planet and now you’re too polite or _something_ to bolt. Which you totally can, I forgive you preemptively.”

She paused, just in case he wanted to take her up on it. Those sharp gray eyes, though, were focused more sharply on her, and Darcy couldn’t stop the little shiver up her spine at the intensity of that gaze. Even if he was, apparently, an asshole.

“I plan on sitting right here,” she said when he made no moves to get up, “and eating my macaroni and cheese, and possibly dessert, because I dressed up for this and my shoes hurt and I refuse to let my suffering go to waste.” She nodded decisively and leaned back in her seat, shifting her focus to kitchen entrance. _Cue uncomfortable silence, round three_.

“...why are you wearing them?” She’d focused so much on the expected silence that she started at his words, catching her elbow on the edge of the table when she jumped.

“Wearing what,” she hissed, shaking her arm. _Funny bone, funny bone, fuck my life!_

“The shoes. If they hurt.”

“...because they look pretty kickin’ with this dress, dude. It _is_ a date.” She paused, turning back to him and focusing on the side of his head because those eyes were _way_ too intense. “...was a date. Is? I don’t know, what are we doing, here?”

“Waiting for our food.”  His tone remained faintly distant, but there was a dry edge to it now. Darcy cheered internally and allowed herself a point.

“ _I’m_ waiting for food.” She picked up her fork and waved it at him like a shitty aluminum wand. “You’re waiting for a coronary on a plate.”

The waiter, of course, chose that moment to swoop in with their food, allowing Darcy to immediately regret her words. There was _so much food_. The bowl that landed in front of Darcy was smaller than a football-- slightly-- and almost overflowing with pasta, cheese, bacon, and grilled onions.

“...holy shit.” It was the first thing out of Bucky’s-- _James,_ she reminded herself-- mouth that didn’t sound like he was 60% robot. The plate in front of him was a small graveyard of farm and sea life, surrounded by probably three garden’s worth of sauteed vegetables.

“They…” The fork was still in her hand, so Darcy poked at her food, glancing at the waiter’s retreating form. “They know we’re not expecting anyone else, right? I mean, I can put away a lot of pasta, but…”

James flashed her a grin straight out of the old war reels. The flicker of teeth vanished so quickly that Darcy wasn’t sure she didn’t imagine it. “I’ll finish it if you don’t want it.”

“Hey!” Darcy tugged the bowl a little closer. “See to your own plate, sir, and keep your hands out of my mac n’ cheese if you know what’s good for you.”

He didn’t smile again, but raised his own fork in a faint salute before attacking his plate with fervor.

 

* * *

 

Bucky walked her home. She'd come to the restaurant in a car, one that stayed parked outside for the entire meal, but something in the back of his mind yelled faintly about how a gentleman behaved, when he thought of doing anything but walking her home.

It was a quiet walk. Not too many people, no obvious threats. She was quiet, too, which was strange, which he knew because he had asked.

 _Mouthy_ , Steve had said, _like you._

Which was funny. Steve was the mouthy one.

“You look nice,” he muttered, a few minutes out from the Tower. Then he made a fist with his metal hand and pushed it against his leg until it hurt. _Stupid_.

He’d meant to distract himself from the twitchiness that crawled up his limbs every time he came near the Avengers Tower, not blurt out a line that the least-smooth twelve-year-old in the world would have rolled his eyes at.

And she did. He might have gone to the date under duress, and nearly not gone at all, and hovered outside the restaurant for twenty-three minutes, but he was still capable of acknowledging that her dress and her looks were aesthetically pleasing.

 _She looks like a goddamn movie star_ , some part of his mind said. It sounded a lot like the part that had yelled about gentlemanly behavior.

He could see the flush crawling up her neck from the corner of his eye, and he bit his tongue hard against any other idiot thing that might fall out of his mouth.

 _Look at her_ . But if he did that, he was going to look at her cleavage again, and then he was going to think about the pin-up photos they’d passed around camps, which he remembered very clearly and he was _not going to think about that_.

 _This_ , Bucky snarled to himself _, this is why I do not ‘ go out and do things,’ thank you Peggy Carter_.

It took a moment to register that they’d stopped.

“Um.” Darcy glanced up at him through her eyelashes, rocking back on her heels. “Are you coming in? I mean--!” She jerked her arms up, waving her hands at him in a haphazard way. “Not that I’m-- I just know that Steve lives here and I thought maybe--”

“No.” Even being this close to the Tower made him itch. It was hard not to eye the doors, expecting Steve to pop out of them at any moment and stare at him with sad eyes. “I… no.”

“...right.” Darcy backed up a few steps, letting her arms fall to her sides. “Goodnight, I guess.”

He nodded sharply, not trusting the complaining parts of his mind not to say something foolish if he opened his mouth. Darcy took a breath, looking for a moment as if she wanted to say something else, then shut it with a snap and spun on her heel and pushed through the door.

“...’night,” Bucky muttered, and started the long walk back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See. SO AWKWARD.
> 
> What a pair of dorks
> 
> I'm going to try to reply to comments going forward. No promises, I'm notoriously unreliable.


	4. An Afternoon at the Museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Darcy are forced to go out and do Normal Human Things and end up in the same place. Things almost go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, a wild update!
> 
> I'd love to blame Civil War for the ridiculous lateness of this chapter (ngl, about ten minutes after watching it I went _aw shit this fucks up my plot_ but oh well), but really I just didn't write for a month. Whoops. I'm notoriously unreliable, what can I say.

“My point is--”

Bucky closed his eyes and let himself sag sideways on the couch. Steve hadn’t stopped talking from the moment he knocked on the door-- interrupting Bucky’s shower-- to now, sticking to his topic with that famous Rogers stubbornness. Not while Bucky got dressed, not while he stood in his tiny kitchen making toast, not when he dropped onto the couch and glared. Steve had just smiled at him and sat in the awful wobbly green chair that had come with the apartment and harangued on.

“--you need to get out there, Buck. I understand wanting to live a normal life, after-- after everything you’ve been through. I get it, I do. But normal isn’t… this.”

Bucky cracked an eye open in time to catch Steve’s expressive gesture at the tiny living room of Bucky’s apartment. 

“Hey,” he muttered. “I like this apartment.”

“Nobody likes shitty apartments, Bucky.” Steve shot back. “Nobody likes staring at stains on the wall all day.” 

“Gives it character, punk. How do you know I’m not reading or something?” Bucky nudged the coffee table with his toe. “I have ten thousand books on there.”

Steve just arched his eyebrow at the tablet laying pristine on the gently sagging tabletop. “Buck, have you even turned that thing on?”

Bucky shrugged. “They’re all boring books.” 

Steve sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “My point is--”

Enough was enough. Bucky sat up and planted his feet on the floor, sprawling against the couch back in a way calculated to irritate. “Your point is I should go outside and play. Did that already, Steve, didn’t turn out too well for me.”

It was fascinating to watch Steve’s face crumple from righteous irritation into chagrin. “That wasn’t my idea, but I’m sorry. I should’ve stopped her.” Steve’s gaze flicked down, shoulders hunching in a way that drug images up from the depths of Bucky’s mind and made him clench his teeth against soppy things he didn’t really want to say right now. 

Just in time, too: Steve glanced back up at him with a small smile that was only wicked if you knew just who you were dealing with. “I was thinking we could hit Coney. Just you an’ me, how’s that sound?”

Bucky froze.

_ Alone with Steve _ for any length of time really meant  _ remember things _ . He had to take a deep breath before his brain unlocked and found himself moving before he thought, halfway to the door when Steve shot up from the wobbly chair and it tipped to the ground with a thud.

“Bucky--”

“You couldn’t stop Carter from any damn thing,” Bucky tossed over his shoulder. “And I’m going, like you wanted.”

Steve took a half-step toward him, hand reaching out in an aborted gesture that he turned into running over his hair. “Not to the fair, huh? Where?” 

“What, you’re my nanny?” Bucky grabbed his jacket and backpack from their hooks beside the door, slinging them on quickly without looking at Steve. “You want me to go out so bad, well, I’m going. Sit down, Rogers.”  _ Don’t push it, Steve. Don’t _ .

For a beat he thought Steve would follow him anyway, found bitter words settling on his tongue in preparation, but Steve just laughed. Soft, half-hearted at best, but Bucky found his muscles unclenching at the sound. 

“Yeah.” Steve stepped up behind him and reached for the hat hanging on the wall, shoving it into Bucky’s jacket pocket. “It’s cold out.”

Bucky almost changed his mind-- it couldn’t be that bad, really, probably… but he managed to swallow impulse and shot Steve a lazy grin as he pulled the beanie out of his pocket and pulled it on. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you don’t like my apartment, why don’t you fix it up?” 

A few minutes later “ _...hey, Sam. Could use a favor…no, I’m fine. Just need an extra pair of hands… _ ” floated out the open window as he stepped out into the December air.

He turned left toward the sound of people in case Steve took it into his head to follow anyway. Steve didn’t like crowds much. Hadn’t liked crowds. Maybe it was different, now. Something in Bucky’s head guided him unerringly through the press of people without effort, smiling occasionally and making just the right amount of eye contact. Crowds, people, they didn’t bother him. He knew the right thing to say, the right time to move. It might be something the Soldier left behind, programming to make him blend in, but he doesn’t think it is. Not entirely. He usually tried not to look at it too closely. He didn’t know if examining the line between  _ Bucky _ and  _ Soldier _ would make it disappear.

He bought a grilled cheese at a food truck three blocks from his apartment and chewed it thoughtfully while he stared at a flier.  _ Future of Space Travel  _ at the Natural History Museum. Well, that sounded interesting. 

He shoved the last quarter of the sandwich into his mouth and flagged down a taxi.

* * *

Of all the things to do on her day off, Darcy couldn’t quite believe she’d picked going to the museum. Not that it wasn’t fun, museums were awesome, obviously, but… she sighed and pasted on a grin for a selfie next to a small photo of Jane. 

Pictures of space and bits of rock just weren’t that exciting after you’d stared down a genocidal space elf. Still, she’d promised Jane she’d get out of her apartment and do something that wasn’t work-related. And it was kind of calming to wander through and look at photos and listen to the susurrus of people using their indoor voices.

After an hour of wandering she slid out of the crowd to lean against the wall near an interactive exhibit about potential spaceship engines. Darcy had to grin at the little kids running around and poking buttons and miniature spaceship holograms. They were  _ so excited _ that it was impossible not to feel some of that joy by osmosis. 

_ “Planetarium show in five minutes _ .” The pleasant electronic voice washed out over the crowd. WIth only the barest pause in conversation, the suggestion of a line started forming a few yards to her right. Darcy pulled up the exhibit information on her phone.  _ Spaceflight: Past, Present, and Future _ . Well, that sounded interesting enough, and her feet were starting to ache. Planetarium it was.

She made it three steps toward the line before smacking into a wall of flesh and hoodie.

“Augh, sorry!” Darcy yelped and stumbled sideways, saved from an abrupt meeting with the floor by a firm grip on her shoulders. A stinging warmth blazed up her neck and face, and oh god she did  _ not _ want to look this person in the face, but-- she’d run into them and they’d saved her. It felt mandatory.

The hands let go of her shoulders and Darcy stepped back, making a show of brushing down her sweater in the hopes the blush would fade a little and then looked up into sharp grey eyes.

“Oh.” She smiled and managed a wiggling of the fingers as a wave, every movement slathered with embarrassment. “Really, really sorry about that.”

Buck-  _ James _ , she reminded herself with a mental slap. James stared at her for a moment before tentatively returning the smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m pretty sturdy.”

“Hah, yeah. Um... “ She nodded at the line, which was now filing slowly into the planetarium. “You going to that?”

He looked almost embarrassed, shrugging and glancing away. 

“Well, I am.” It was strange. At dinner he’d seemed intimidating and cold. Now he mostly reminded her of a shy dog. Darcy bit back a sigh and shrugged herself. “...want to sit together?” 

A long pause hovered between them.  _ His specialty _ , she thought, then gave herself another mental smack. His smile flickered, and then he turned and held his elbow out for her.

“Since you asked so nicely.” For a moment the smile was replaced by a grin, a flash of delight that made him look like the photo she’d copied out of her history book in 8th grade. They trailed the last of the crowd into the planetarium and ended up in seats near the exit, Bucky taking the outside.

A chorus of  _ shh _ went around the room as the lights dimmed and the show started. Holographic constellations floated up into the curving ceiling as a smooth British accent talked about humanity’s urge to explore. 

James leaned close as the holograms shifted into old-fashioned labs filled by men in lab coats. “Stark funded this, didn’t he,” James whispered flatly.

“Probably,” Darcy muttered back. “Those are SI holograms. They fund a lot of stuff. Why?” 

The only response she got was an unintelligible  grumble.

“... _ and as 1957 drew to a close, the USSR did indeed launch humanity’s first artificial satellite: Sputnik…” _

James went rigid beside her as a small holographic spaceship launched with a realistic engine roar. Darcy glanced at him and froze at the expression on his face, blank and yet suffused with rage.

“Um, James?” She clenched her fingers together in her lap, white-knuckled, against the urge to put a hand on his arm. 

“Fine,” he rasped. “I’m--” his face twisted and he sucked in a gasping breath. People around them were staring. 

“Of course you are,” Darcy said. Her smile was brittle as she voted down the sensible parts of her brain and grabbed his arm. “C’mon.” 

Somehow Darcy managed to drag a stumbling full-grown man out the planetarium doors and through two block’s worth of museum with one hand. With the other, she texted Thor.


	5. Netflix and No Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier knows how to text, thank you very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhh boy. Hi. So. Due to various reasons including my inability to write pretty much anything the last few months without having a fit about my inadequacy as a writer and blah blah blah anxiety blah blah blah depression, this is a million years late, I AM SO SORRY Y'ALL.

Her phone beeped at 5:57. An unacceptable time to get up by any standard, but on a Sunday?  _ Ugh _ . Darcy groaned and flung her hand out, groping along the covers without bothering to open her eyes until the phone was in her hand and she spotted the time. 

“No,” she said to the empty room. “I refuse. I object. I decline. This is not the time for awake.” But the pair of text notifications below the clock dragged her brain into the light of semi-consciousness. 

_ Thank you _

_ For the museum _

After staring blankly at the too-bright screen for a few moments, Darcy gently set the phone on the comforter and slid out of bed. She brushed her teeth, got dressed, and wandered out to her small kitchen to make tea in a state of bemusement. By the time she made it back to her bed, blowing tendrils of steam away from her mug, there was another text.

_ This is James. I made Steve get your number from Thor. _

Darcy snorted softly. Was she supposed to have had some  _ other _ incident at a museum? She settled onto the bed, sipping at her tea as she considered how to reply. Her instincts were making grabby hands at snarkiness, but… that hadn’t gone so well, last time. Maybe she should just… 

Darcy grabbed her phone and tapped out a response before she could talk herself out of it.

_no problemo_ _glad i could help_

The moment her thumb hit send she winced and wished desperately for a time-turner. “No freaking  _ problemo _ , you utter dork,” she groaned, dropping her phone to the comforter. “Why do I even exist.”

A resolution to ignore her phone and be productive lasted as long as finishing her tea and trudging back out to the kitchen to rinse her cup. A lesser woman might be ashamed of how quickly she bolted back to her bedroom when her phone pinged, but she was wearing her dancing shark pajamas today and there was no shame on shark pajama day. It was a rule.

This time she was faced with a wall of text, all properly capitalized and punctuated.

_ I hope I didn’t wake you up.  _

_ What do normal people do when they can’t sleep? I mean real normal people. _

_ I’m told that television is “made of lies,” which is good, because I don’t think I have any orange juice and I don’t actually know how to make pancakes. _

Darcy slapped a hand to her mouth to stifle the giggles that threatened to burst out. 

_ what do pancakes have to do with anything  _ she typed out, then thought for a moment and added  _ i can teach you how to make them if u want _ . And then, a few seconds later:  _ netflix usually. anyway that’s what i do i watch stupid movies. or disney. but also i don’t really sleep a lot??? caffeine is god. _

The reply came more quickly this time. She’d barely tucked herself back under the blankets when her phone pinged again.

_ I don’t think I have Netflix. _

_ And yes, I do know what it is. _

Darcy gasped aloud. “You don’t have Netflix? What are you even  _ doing _ all day? This is a massive oversight.” She knew better, but couldn’t help flicking her gaze toward the ceiling when she spoke again.”Hey....JARVIS?”

“Sgt. Barnes has just received his login information, Miss Lewis. I took the liberty of marking out several documentaries he may find interesting.”

“You are the  _ absolute best _ , J. Is he logging in?”

“As we speak.”

Darcy kicked her feet in delight.  _ ok my friend, get ready to experience the wonder of cartoons _ .  _ look up the land before time. _

_ I’ve seen cartoons, Darcy. _

_ shhhh clear your mind of the past and get ready to experience inaccurate science and heartbreak _

\-----------

Bucky stared at the screen of his phone, unable to keep a faint smile from his face. He hadn’t expected her to reply at all, really, after the disaster of their first two meetings. He hadn’t been sure he wanted her to. Sure, Darcy was kind of funny, and damned good-looking, but…

A loud beep from his phone startled him out of his thoughts. She’d sent him another text:  _ if u have a tv or something watch it on there so you we can text _ . As he read, another popped up.  _ i mean if you want to??? no pressure!! _

Good-natured argument interspersed with hammering and the sound of unfolding paper drifted in through his bedroom door. That was a really good question. Did he really want to brave the living room, walk past all his  _ nice new furniture _ in various stages of construction, see the irritation-tinged concern on Wilson’s face? Did he  _ really _ want to face Steve before dawn the day after having a fucking meltdown?

No. But he didn’t want to stop talking to Darcy, either. There was something freeing about the way she’d just brushed it all off. She wasn’t acting like he was about to shatter. Not like--

Bucky glanced guiltily at the door as if his thoughts could drift through it, straight to Steve’s brain. He should be grateful. Steve was trying so hard, he was doing so much  _ right _ … but there was still that edge. Part  _ are you still the Soldier, somewhere in there? _ and part  _ I lost you and I’m never abandoning you again _ , the whole of which seemed to become  _ watch Bucky’s every move and blunt the edges of the world for him _ . 

He should be grateful. But mostly, he was angry.

With a sigh Bucky flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt and slid off the bed. The living room fell silent as soon as he pushed the door open, and without looking up he could feel Steve’s attention riveted on him. He tried to ignore it as he trudged silently across the room.

“Good...morning….?” Steve’s words faltered as Bucky snatched the tablet up from the new, way-too-blue couch-- his coffee table appeared to have vanished-- and stalked back to his room. As he closed the door he could hear the conversation slowly resume, this time with laced with concern and a lot less hammering. He leaned back against the door and rolled his eyes. Bad enough they were fucking up-- oh, no,  _ fixing _ \-- his apartment, but did they have to do it this early in the morning?

Almost of its own volition, his left hand groped for the doorknob and turned the lock. 

Darcy had sent him more texts in the brief span of time he’d been gone.  _ hey and if you don’t want to watch it that’s fine too! sorry i guess i’m super bossy sometimes. _

This time he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he closed the text and opened another app on his phone. A few moments later, Darcy’s face-- adorably sleepy and slightly confused-- filled the tiny screen.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s watch a movie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably have given this another pass but I just wanted to get it posted. So if you see any errors/typos/whatevs please tell me. 
> 
> <3


	6. Darcy vs the Mall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Texting, ice cream, and malls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying something new with the texting formatting. Not sure how it'll work if you've got creator's styles hidden, so let me know.

Ask Darcy a year ago, and she would have laughed at the idea that the best part of her day was sitting in her pajamas live-texting movies with a super-soldier. Ok, maybe she’d have bought the pajama and movie aspects, she reflected, stuffing another garlic salt-coated handful of popcorn into her mouth just as the screen of her phone lit up for the first time in twenty minutes.

_ I’m OFFICIALLY watching this under duress _ . 

“Ooooh,” she muttered, licking her fingers and snatching up her phone. “Capitalized words? Somebody’s got his panties in a twist.” Her freshly applied sparkly nail polish glinted in the light from her computer as she responded. 

_ shut up anastasia is amazing _

His response came immediately, and Darcy felt a flash of pride that his typing was nearly as quick as hers now, especially since she knew he prefered not to use his metal hand for it. 

_ Amazing here meaning the most inaccurate depiction of Russia possible. _

Darcy grinned as she read it. Trolling James had rapidly reached her top five favorite hobbies in the last month. Maybe top three.

_ do u KNOW rasputin wasn’t a lich??? ? ??? ? _

_ No one’s a lich! _

_ But do u have proof _

_ Are you seriously asking me to negatively prove that a long-dead faith healer was not, in fact, a lich with a talking bat sidekick? An assertion you’re making based on an animated movie made within your lifetime. _

_ so no. u do not. _

Before he’d even started responding, a notification popped up on the small screen. Darcy blinked at it for a moment, wondering if sleepiness was making her hallucinate, before tapping  _ ok _ and bringing Facebook up on her computer. She left  _ Anastasia _ running in its tab so she wouldn’t be out of sync with James’s viewing, although she had the suspicion he’d already turned it off. 

Well, it hadn’t been a hallucination. Peggy’s all-caps “ _ HOW DARE YOU _ ” stared her in the face from her computer screen as well. With a shrug, Darcy tapped out a reply.

_ I dare all. What did I dare this time? _

Peggy’s response was so fast that she could practically  _ feel _ the keys being struck on the other end. 

_ James Buchanan Barnes is texting me _ .

_ Says the Vine Queen nonagenarian with shock. He’s been texting for a while now, P.  _

_ He sent me a video about Japan. Admittedly quite funny, I’m surprised I haven’t seen it before.  _

Darcy slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. 

_ That doesn’t seem so bad? _

_ Check your email, dear _ .

“...that’s not ominous, no sir.” Darcy reached for her phone, rolling her eyes at the text informing her that James had, in fact, shut the movie off, and swiped the notification of Peggy’s email. “...holy shit  _ woah _ .”

Attached to the email were seventeen screenshots of texts between Peggy and James, mostly comprised of cat videos and memes interspersed with progressively less polite requests to ‘stop that before I strangle you, Barnes.’

_ Point taken _ , she sent, swiping back through the photos with a grin. 

_ Do you understand now what you’ve done? _

_ Says the spy-borg with a twitter army. _

_ We’re not discussing me, Lewis. _

_ I’m just saying, you could boost my follower count if you really wanted to. _

_ It’ll be more satisfying when you earn them yourself. _

_ Rude. _

_ Watch your tone, young lady, or I won’t invite you to the party. _

_ There’s a party? What party? _  


* * *

“Shit, shit, shit shit shit.” Darcy stripped the green sundress off and balled it up with a growl of frustration that only grew louder when she threw it at her bed and missed by a solid two feet. “Shit shit  _ shit _ .”

That had been the last option. Every dress, skirt, and fancy pair of shoes that Darcy Lewis owned were currently strewn around her bedroom and bathroom and not a single thing was even  _ remotely _ appropriate for a Tony Stark party. Not even a party. A  _ charity gala _ , ooh-la-fucking-lah. 

“Shit, bugger, and fuck me.” Darcy threw herself onto the bed, heedless of the clothes beneath her. “Everything is terrible, let me die.”

_ Peggy would buy you a dress _ , a niggling little voice at the back of her head insisted. It was the same one that had picked apart every dress she tried on along with the body beneath it.  _ She could pick one way better than you _ .  _ Or you could email Pepper _ . 

“Nooooooo,” Darcy whimpered. “I’ve got my pride, damn it. Probably not my sanity after four hours of this because I am definitely hella talking to myself, but pride? Yes. Yes I do.” With a groan, she rolled over and groped around in the laundry until she found her phone.

_ Help me obi-wan. _

_ Busy _ . 

_ Ok but i have to buy a dress for the fancy party thing and i need assistance everything is terrible save me _

_ Why do you assume I have a frame of reference for something like this? _

_ Dont u? _

_ ….yes.  >:( _

_ sweet. meet you at the mall in an hour, lunch is on me. _

There was a mall almost exactly halfway between the Tower and James’ apartment. Darcy knew this because it contained the best weird little pastry and ice cream shop in the world, that she basically wanted to live in. And she’d managed to hook her favorite super-soldier on their taro gelato. Which may or may not have been intentional. She knew James had suspicions, but Darcy remained resilient in the face of his dubious side-eyeing. She also bought him a triple-scoop in gratitude. 

There was a boutique on the top floor, the kind of place that didn’t list prices. It wasn’t the fanciest place, but even without paying rent, Darcy couldn’t exactly stroll in and pick a Givenchy off the rack. The thought of even spending the kind of money she’d need to here had gremlins crawling around in her stomach, but hell, she’d ended up in New York. What else was she going to do with her money, buy a car?

“This it?” James padded to a stop behind her as Darcy stared at the dresses in the storefront, scraping at the last of his gelato.

“Yeah.” Darcy sighed. There was no way to make this any less traumatising, so she might as well just--

“Hi!” A bright voice cut into her thoughts. Darcy jerked slightly to the side, tripping over her own feet. She had time to think  _ oh crap _ before she was tipping over but an arm snaked around her waist before she could even let out a yelp, turning the fall into a spin that had her stumbling against James. Darcy swallowed hard, willing her vocal cords to silence. She could feel the groan of embarrassment that wanted to crawl its way out of her throat and it  _ was not allowed _ , she told herself sternly.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you! Are you alright?” A small, cold hand landed on Darcy’s elbow, and she stiffened almost as fast as James did.  After taking a deep breath and a moment to brush herself off and scrape up what was left of her dignity, Darcy gently pulled away from the strange hand and turned around to face the salesperson.

The tall, thin,  _ fucking gorgeous _ blonde salesperson that was eyeing James like water in the desert. 

“Fine,” Darcy muttered as she screamed at all her muscles to stay still. She was  _ not _ turning around to see if James was staring back. And if he was, she certainly didn’t care.

Yeah. This day was off to an awesome start.


	7. Darcy vs The Mall, Part II: Winter Soldier Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy, dresses, and sudden discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC LIVES! *mad scientist cackle*
> 
> I, uh. I got no excuses. Well, I do, I've been writing other stuff, but also I'm a lazy fucker, and, yeah. 
> 
> But I write smut now so the eventual fade-to-black chapter might be a little less fade-to-black. You're welcome.

Bucky watched Darcy walk into the dimly lit story before shifting his gaze to the saleswoman. The tall blonde smiled at him with a look he’d seen more than once in his life. The bright eyes, shark-like smile, something assessing and greedy that didn’t see past the surface. Granted, it had usually been his uniform they didn’t see past— why he was getting that look  _ now  _ was beyond him. 

He glanced at the store again and raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to help her?”

“Oh!” The woman laughed. It was probably meant to sound self-deprecating, appeasing, but the way she shifted her body toward him— she probably thought it was subtle; hell, it probably  _ was _ subtle to most people— ruined the effect. “Sorry, yes. Of course.”

He couldn’t help rolling his eyes as he followed her into the store, lingering behind so that by the time he got to Darcy the woman was already talking to her and distracted from him, thank god. He wasn’t sure how much of that avid expression he could take right now. It hadn’t bothered him as much, once. 

Darcy’s expression was a far better one to focus on. If he’d been texting her he’d have described it as the bastard child of terror and Grumpy Cat. His hand twitched toward his phone twice in the span of a few minutes to do that very thing, or at least Snapchat it to Peggy. When the saleswoman clapped her hands in delight and stepped away to gather some dresses Darcy shot him a pleading look. He smirked back and leaned against the wall. 

“ _ Help me _ ,” she hissed.

“You’re fine, Darce.” He eyed a dress at the end of a nearby rack, a rich, dark blue that almost tipped over into navy. He snagged it and handed it to Darcy as the saleswoman returned with an armful of dresses, mostly in bright colors that he could already tell would do nothing for Darcy. “Try this on, too.”

“Fine,” she sighed. With an uncertain smile Darcy took the rest of the dresses and stepped into the narrow cubicle. 

A few minutes of awkward silence ensued, punctuated by the sounds of Darcy undressing. 

“So nice of you to take your sister shopping.” 

Bucky tilted his head, narrowing his eyes slightly at the blonde woman beside him. After a moment he allowed himself a slow, easy grin, something dredged from memory. Something that still worked, if the sudden faint flush on her cheeks was anything to go by. “She’s not my sister, doll.”

The blush deepened. “Well. Let me know if you need any help,” she muttered, and moved to the counter and busied herself folding things.

Bucky allowed himself to sit in the oversized armchair in victory. The next few minutes of silence were much less awkward.

“James?” Darcy peeked out of the dressing room after ten minutes. His lips twitched in a barely-held-back smile at the way she was nervously biting her lip. “I tried on two and they really,  _ really  _ sucked, like black hole sucked, but I think this one is ok.” She stepped out, and it felt like a punch to his lungs.

It was the dress he’d picked. Its straps hugged the cusp of her shoulders before dipping into soft gathers that accented her cleavage, and it clung to her every curve until it flared out into a fuller skirt at the hips. She turned, and he realized that it dipped low in the back with the same soft falls of fabric as the neckline, so low that he could see a trio of freckles that graced the base of her spine.

He dug the fingers of his metal hand into his thigh before she could turn back around. 

“Looks great,” he managed. She tossed a grin over her shoulder and put her arms out, spinning so that the skirt floated away from her legs. He suddenly hated the dress, hated himself for picking it and hated that other men were going to see her in that dress, no one should be allowed to see her in that dress, the only use for that dress would be to decorate the floor of his bedroom—

“James?”

He blinked. Darcy was staring at him with concern written over her face. Shit. He’d missed whatever she’d said. “It looks amazing on you, Darcy, you should get it.”

She bounced in delight—  _ fuck don’t look at her cleavage _ he snarled at himself— and darted back into the dressing room.

_ Well, fuck _ . Where the hell had  _ that _ come from?

He was still wondering that when he joined Darcy at the counter. The saleswoman wouldn’t look him in the eye, and struck by an impish urge, Bucky put an arm around Darcy’s shoulders and pulled out his wallet before she could reach for hers. Ignoring her side-eye, he flicked his card onto the counter. 

“James, wait—”

“I can cover it, Darce, don’t worry.” He shot her a quick grin. “You can pay me back later, all right?” 

She opened her mouth to protest, only to shut it with a snap as the final price rang up and nod meekly.

He didn’t pull his arm away until they’d stepped out of the store.

“Ok,” Darcy said, sounding like herself for the first time since they’d reached the store. “Food court?”

“Nope.” Bucky pointed at a small store across the center aisle. “Undergarments.”

“I have those!”

“Not for this dress, you don’t.”

Darcy glared at him. “How do you know?”

“I extrapolated—” 

“—from  _ what _ ?!”

“Go in there.” He put his hands on her shoulders and aimed her at the store. “Take the dress with you. You asked me for help, remember? Go.”

“Mrr. Fine.” Darcy stepped away. Halfway across she paused and glanced over her shoulder. Bucky shook his head and glared mock-sternly, pointing at the lingerie shop. 

“I’ll be in the bookstore,” he called as she sighed and continued on, turning to the right and following actions to words. 

It had the best vantage point to glare at the kiosk cashier staring at her ass as she walked by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is getting a whole lot longer than I intended, and I'm not sure all of the places it's going anymore-- which is a long way of saying suggestions/prompts are now officially open for _Hey There, Soldier_ by comment or by [tumblr](http://shiniestqueen.tumblr.com/ask), whichever.
> 
> Hope you all had a non-shitty holiday/new year season! <3 See you next week (for realsies!)


	8. Darcy vs. The Mall, Part III: With Added Captain America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy buys underthings, sees Bucky's apartment, hear's an argument, talks to Sam, and finishes a day that just didn't go very well.

The lingerie store somehow managed to be less intimidating than the boutique. Maybe it was the difference in staff: the moment Darcy stepped into the narrow shop a skinny redhead approached with a wide, welcoming smile.

“Hi, hon,” she greeted warmly. “I’m Nicki. What brings you in here today today?”

“Um.” Darcy jiggled the bag from the boutique, silence reigning a moment before it occurred to her to pull out the dress. “I’m going to a party and… apparently my normal bras aren’t good enough, or something.”

Nicki clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Gotcha. Let me guess, your stuff is pretty much all practical, right? Maybe a little lace here and there?”

Darcy’s lips twitched towards a frown for a brief moment. “Uh…yeah? How—”

“Oh! Oh, sorry, you just get used to picking up on that kind of thing when you work here, you know? I can probably pick out your bra size just by looking, too.” She grinned, ushering Darcy toward a brightly lit dressing room at the back. “Not that I’m going to. Let’s get you sized, then I’ll grab a few things that should work with that dress. Sound good?”

Darcy nodded mutely, a bit overwhelmed. She pulled off her shirt and bra at the redhead’s directions and tried not to blush as she was measured. She wouldn’t call herself body-conscious, exactly, but it was hard not to be a little embarrassed to be seen by someone you didn’t even know, no matter how professional. When Nicki darted out of the dressing room Darcy tugged her shirt back on with a sigh.

_ ‘I extrapolated.’ _ In the brief moment of quiet James’ words floated back into her head. Extrapolated from  _ what _ ? Could he seriously tell what kind of underwear she wore? Well, Nicki had said  _ she _ could, but she was a professional, and… and it was very much not comfortable at all to think of James looking at her and knowing when she had big, comfy period panties on.  It was just… wrong.

“Here we go!” A knock accompanied the words. Darcy opened the slatted door to Nicki’s smiling face and a handful of undergarments. She eyed the corset suspiciously as the redhead hung them along the wall with brisk efficiency. “All right, let’s see what works.”

Half an hour later Darcy was in possession of not only that corset (and a garter belt and real honest-to-goodness stockings with the seam up the back and everything), but after thinking for the thirtieth time of James knowing what she was wearing under her clothes she’d blurted out: “Can I get some other stuff, too? Like new bras and things?”

She’d almost fainted when the total rang up.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him hovering near the front of the bookstore, surprisingly with a bag in hand. Every now and again he shot a vicious glare at the boy manning the cell phone kiosk. Darcy couldn’t imagine why. He seemed like a sweet kid, and she’d had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing when she’d walked past him into the lingerie store and he’d blurted out “You’re very pretty.”

Really, she had to give him props for courage. She remembered seventeen pretty clearly and could swear that she’d never have been brave enough to do such a thing.

She shrugged and approached James with a faint smile that she knew didn’t hide the dazed sensation of spending way too much money. “That was… an experience.” She offered him her arm and then told off her heart when it skipped at his slow, brilliant smile. “To lunch, sir?”

He took her bags before she could protest and then hooked his arm through hers, throwing one last glare over her shoulder at the hapless kiosk guy. When his gaze returned to her his eyes were warm. “They got any hot dogs here?”

Over lunch she prodded him about his apartment. For weeks he’d complained about all the changes Steve was making. A part of Darcy was curious to see where he lived, she had to admit. He finally caved over another serving of taro ice cream and when they left the mall they headed for his place.

The moments between opening the door to his apartment and ending up in the kitchen with Sam were a little blurry. One moment she’d been laughing at her own stupid joke and the next James was yelling at Steve. Steve yelled back, Sam cussed at a shallow gash along his arm, and Darcy’s common sense kicked in fast enough for her to drag Sam into the kitchen and yank a towel from the oven bar.

“It’s probably not clean,” she muttered as she pressed it to his arm. “I’ll see if I can find some peroxide or something.”

Sam caught her arm as she made to step away. “Nah. Don’t worry about it.”

“You need—”

He nodded his head toward the living room. James and Steve were out of sight but definitely not out of earshot, and the argument was rapidly increasing in volume. “Pretty sure you don’t walk through that right now.”

She sighed. He was right, but she also… kind of did. Kind of wanted to put herself in front of Steve ‘Captain America’ Rogers and give him a piece of her mind. With that thought, she narrowed her eyes at Sam. She’d only met him twice before, and part of her squirmed at the idea of calling out someone who was sitting wounded (however slightly) in front of her, but…

“You’ve got to know this isn’t right.” She wiggled her fingers vaguely. From his rueful smile, Darcy was pretty sure he understood her. “Just waltzing in and… changing things. It’s really upsetting him.”

“Trust me, I know.” Sam sighed, leaning back against the counter. “There’s vodka in one of the cabinets by the fridge. It’s gonna sting like hell, but I don’t know how long that’s going to last.” As she hunted through the cabinets for the alcohol he went on softly. “I’ve tried talking Steve down, but he’s… stubborn. He thinks he knows what’s right, you know? He’s trying to take care of his friend. His… brother, I guess. Kinda got to the point…”

“Found it,” she offered quietly as he trailed off. Sam glanced at her, eyes warm over his small but genuine smile. She unscrewed the cap and he held his arm over the sink, wincing as the slow trickle of clear liquid hit the cut.

“Damn!” Sam shuddered. “Don’t think it’ll need stitches, at least, but  _ damn _ . Look—” He sighed, shaking his head. “I know it’s the wrong way to handle the whole thing, but try telling Steve that, you know? It was leave him to it or do my best to keep it from getting too bad. Keep him a little distracted, maybe hope he’d start listening to me. Or go get some damn therapy.”

“I get it.”

“I mean, I’ve been trying. It’s not the healthiest coping for either of them. I’m just doing what I can.”

“I get it,” Darcy said again, nodding. “You do what you can for friends, right? It must be hard, with what you do. I’d want to fix everyone.”

He laughed and took the vodka from her loose grip, setting it on the counter. “Sometimes I do. It can be hard to have knowledge and not want to use it, huh? Sounds like the battle’s over, though.”

They peeked out of the kitchen, Darcy not entirely convinced she wouldn’t find an actual carnage-filled battlefield, but no. Just James and Steve, staring at each other. James glanced away briefly as Darcy peered around Sam. His eyes met hers and she had to force herself to hold them, remind herself that frustration and pain wasn’t aimed at her.

“You gotta stop, Stevie,” he said quietly, not looking back to his friend.

“Buck, I— what is that?”

The entire room seemed to shift and reorient around Steve’s startled gaze. James broke eye contact with her and it was his suddenly pink ears that made her look, too.

He’d tossed his bag onto the couch as he stormed in past the half-installed entertainment center, and his bookshop purchase had slid out of the slick plastic onto the eye-gougingly blue couch. The cover read  _ The Caveman's Pregnancy Companion: A Survival Guide for Expectant Fathers. _

_ “ _ Dude,” Sam said, laughter threading through his voice. “That book sucks. My sister got it last year. I can recommend you some better ones.”

Darcy felt time slow around her as her heart dropped and her stomach rose. James stuttered something she couldn’t hear over the rushing in her ears.  _ Stupid girl _ , she snarled at herself, and felt rage flush over her cheeks as Steve slowly swiveled to stare at her.

“Not. Me.” She bit out.

“Not  _ anyone,”  _ James all but wailed. “The cashier was going to call security on me if I stood around any longer, I just grabbed something and bought it!”

“I’m— going to— um. I’m going to go home,” Darcy managed, still reeling. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling. She didn’t like it. She kind of wanted to throw up. It was too hot. “I’ll… I’ll talk to you later, James.”

“Darce-”

She slammed the door behind her so she wouldn’t have to hear the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [That is a real actual honest to god book](https://www.amazon.com/Cavemans-Pregnancy-Companion-Survival-Expectant/dp/140273526X) which was recommended to me as the most hilarious thing Bucky could possibly buy at the bookshop. Apparently it's horrible.
> 
> This chapter was originally drafted as Bucky's POV (since it was supposed to be part of the previous chapter). Someday I may write that version and tack it on, because who DOESN'T want to see hobo!Bucky hovering in a bookstore glaring at a hapless teen who tried his very best to flirt with Darcy? 
> 
> Maybe I'll give Bucky a dog.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr, I'm [shiniestqueen](http://shiniestqueen.tumblr.com/).


End file.
